No Rings Attached

Estelle's Pov~ Love was something people worked for. At least for me. Not in the happily-ever-after way, where devotion was freely given, where parents tucked their children in at night and kissed their foreheads just because. Love in the Laurent household—was a transaction. It was measured in success. In playing by the rules. In being valuable. So when my mother called me home with that particular tone—the one reserved for high-stakes negotiations and quarterly earnings meetings—I knew something was coming. I just hadn’t expected this. “You’re getting married.” The words came with the same cool finality as a gavel strike, a decision already made. I stilled, fingers tightening around the delicate porcelain of my teacup. The scent of jasmine curled in the air, too soft, too normal. I let out a breathy laugh. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you.” Across the long, glass-topped dining table, my mother sighed as if I were the most exhausting business call of the day. Beside her, my father didn’t bother to look up from the stack of documents in front of him. “You heard correctly,” he said, turning a page. My stomach twisted. No preamble. No easing into it. Just a simple declaration. A move made without consulting me, because why would they? They never had before. I forced a breath, my voice carefully even. “You can’t be serious.” My father finally glanced up, expression unreadable. “You’ll be marrying Miles Marriot.” My fingers went rigid around the cup. I knew that name. Everyone did. Miles Marriot—the heir to the Marriot Group. A man whose last name was synonymous with luxury and scandal in equal measure. The kind of man who made headlines for all the wrong reasons: extravagant parties, mysterious disappearances from corporate meetings, women who graced his arm like seasonal accessories. He was rich, untouchable, and completely, completely wrong for me. I swallowed. “You want me to marry him?” My mother arched a perfect brow. “Is there an issue?” An issue. I let out a humorless chuckle, pressing my cup down with deliberate precision. “Oh, no. Not at all. I was just wondering when, exactly, we started arranging marriages like we’re in medieval England.” My father exhaled sharply. “Don’t be dramatic.” I turned to him, heat rising in my chest. "Have you ever thought of what i wanted? have you ever cared about me as a daughter for once? but calling this dramatic? You’re trying to auction me off—” “For goodness sake, Estelle Laurent, dont be so selfish. This is not an auction,” my mother cut in, voice like cold steel. “Its what is best for you, for the company. In no time you'll be taking after us.” Of course, it was a business decision. Because everything was. I had known, deep down, that my parents had never seen me as just their daughter. I was an investment. A name on their financial statements. A way to expand the empire they had spent decades building. Other only children were treasured. Showered with love, spoiled, adored. I had been groomed. I had never known the kind of affection other people talked about—the kind that was warm and effortless, the kind that didn’t have to be earned. The Laurents were not the type of parents who indulged in sentimentality. They were efficient. And now, they were handing me over to a man who made headlines more than boardroom decisions. “Why?” I asked, my voice quieter now. My father leaned back, rubbing his temple. “The Marriot merger—” “Of course it’s about a merger,” I muttered, shaking my head. My mother placed her wine glass down, expression smooth. “Their family is merging with ours. Miles and you will solidify that partnership.” I took a slow, measured breath. This was my life. My future. And they were discussing it like another acquisition. I willed myself to stay composed, to keep my voice steady. “And if I refuse?” My father didn’t answer. My mother didn’t blink. “Then you’d be making a grave mistake.” There it was. The unspoken threat. I forced my nails into my palm, grounding myself. I knew how this worked. I had seen it before—the way my parents operated, the way they controlled every variable. They weren’t asking me to do this. They were telling me. “I won’t do it,” I said, lifting my chin. “You can’t make me.” Mother's lips curved slightly, just enough to look almost amused. “And what exactly do you plan to do without us?” I opened my mouth, ready to say something sharp, something cutting— But then she pulled out her real weapon. “The orphanage in the suburbs,” she said, lightly swirling the wine in her glass. “What was it called again? Ah, yes. St. Helena’s, wasn’t it?” The air in my lungs turned to lead. “Odd,” she continued, feigning curiosity, “how the donation reports show such generous anonymous funding over the past few years. It's almost as if someone has been playing philanthropists behind our backs.” I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. Mother leans forward, voice all silk and steel. “It would be a shame if something happened to it.” The words slid between my ribs like a blade. They knew. Of course they knew. I had been careful, meticulous in covering my tracks, making sure my name was never attached to the financials. But the Laurents had resources—more than I could ever match. And now, they were holding St. Helena’s hostage. I could handle them taking my life away. But not theirs. Not the kids who had already lost so much. I swallowed the burning in my throat, keeping my voice steady. “You will not do anything to St Helena.” Genevieve smiled, slow and practiced. “Wouldn’t I?” The terrifying part was—I believed her. I could already see it. The orphanage suddenly “failing” inspections. The board is pulling funding. The land mysteriously being reclaimed for "better use". They had done worse for less. And just like that, my choices shrank down to nothing. I had no choice but to play safe for now. I exhaled, slow and controlled, even as my fingers curled into my palm so tightly I swore I’d draw blood. “And if I say yes?” I said, forcing the words out. My father watched me assess. “I know you'll make a smart decision. The wedding will be in three months.” Three months. It's an impossible deadline. A ticking clock counting down to a life I didn’t want. But I wasn’t beaten yet. I had three months. Three months to find a way out. And if there was one thing I knew? It was how to play the game. I just had to make sure I won.